No More Rhyme
by Laota II
Summary: The last days of Team Free Will before Sam and Dean go to meet a certain someone in Detroit. Now complete. Spoiler Warning: Takes place throughout season 5's finale, "Swan Song"
1. Red Rum

**Spoiler Warning: contains plot from season 5, up to "Swan Song" **

SINGER SALVAGE YARD - NIGHT

Dean crossed the yard from Bobby's back porch to the garage. He could hear the sound of a synth keyboard coming from somewhere. An echoing voice. It was Debbie Gibson, singing "No More Rhyme." Dean felt himself becoming nauseated. He didn't have time to dwell on it, however, as an empty whiskey bottle dropped into his path, nearly landing on top of him.

"Hey!" Dean barked. He looked up at the roof of the garage.

Castiel was up there, sitting on the ridgepole, legs dangling over the drip edge of the roofing as he opened a bottle of Wild Turkey. Perched precariously beside him on a shingle was an old battery-powered cassette player. There was an aluminum ladder propped up against the overhang.

"What the hell are you doing up there?" Dean said. "Bobby told me you were out here super-sizing a liver. Seeing as he was wasted, too, I wasn't sure what to think."

Castiel raised his bottle to toast Dean, then took a long swing. He made lemon face and grunted. "I'm-." He had to stop and clear his throat. "I'm on the roof."

Dean grinned through his frustration. "You don't say. Let's just jog back to my original question. What the hell are you doing up there!"

Castiel smiled, somewhat lost in thought. Feeling sorry for himself. "Have you ever been in the depths of despair, Dean?"

Dean looked at him for a moment. "Get your ass down here," Dean said. "Now."

Castiel chuckled to himself, then stood up on the ridgepole. "You mean now?" he asked, teetering slightly. "As in, _right_ now?"

Dean put a hands up, anxious. "Okay, not that quick, Cas. Just... calm down, alright? When was the last time you slept?"

Castiel scoffed. "That's not an imp art, Dean."

"...A what?" Dean said.

"What?" Castiel echoed back.

Dean sighed, losing patience. "You can't go on like this, Cas."

"**I know**," Castiel said. "The end is at hand. I can never return to paradise. My grace is... noticeably diminished. I'm in the depths of despair."

"Yeah." Dean's nostrils flared. He was really starting to get annoyed. "It's the actual end of the freaking world, I think it's harshed everybody's mellow!"

Castiel shook his head hard, getting upset. "You don't understand. How..." He found himself getting dizzy, and sat back down on the ridgepole. "I'm referring to the ultimate blaspheme: the complete desolation of the spirit. To despair is to turn one's back on God."

"Considering you gave heaven the finger weeks ago, I think blasphemy is the least of you worries, man."

"That's right," Castiel groaned. "What's it matter? It's only an eternity of endless torment for _me_. What's that got to do with you and your gargantuan brother?"

"Cas!"

"Isn't that how you see everything?" Castiel asked. "In your Deany brain, I defected from the axis powers, made the right decision. But in objective reality, I went against The Almighty. I kill my siblings for you, something you couldn't do for the fate of the planet. I've damned myself so that you could reject your destiny, and now we've all but failed. And that is why," he hugged his booze, "I'm a hopeless drunkard."

"You think I don't know how you feel?" Dean asked. "Cas, you know what we've been through. I've lost everything-."

"You never had anything worth losing," Castiel hissed, finally getting angry. "You're an apostate with a precious towering monstrosity for a family. That, and an exaggerated respect for the grizzled lunatic who raised you."

Dean thought about it for a moment. "Uh, which... grizzled lunatic?"

"Doesn't matter. That feeling of family and connection, feeble as it was, has never left you. And you can ignore it whenever you want, it's a human luxury. But I was built to eternally love and obey the maker of all things. To feel his presence in my every cell, at every moment. Perfectly. And I did, Dean, for a millennium. Now I'm cut off and alone, for the first time in my life. And I can't ignore the emptiness either. So stop comparing you're misery to mine. It sickens me."

"_Okay_," Dean said, "you wanna win the pain-out contest? Fine, yours is bigger than mine. But you're not alone, Cas."

Castiel scoffed again. "This isn't about you," he said. "Not everything is, if you can believe it. I can't live anymore." He took another swig.

"Weren't _you_ the one kickin' _my_ ass," Dean asked, "because I was about to give up? We've all been on a ledge. Now more than ever."

"That's not why I 'kicked your ass'," Castiel said.

"Sure," Dean said, "okay. But you know you can't liquefy yourself by jumping off the garage, right? For one thing, you're only two stories up. It's not exactly the Chrysler Building."

"It's high enough to break my neck," Castiel pointed out.

The song that was playing ended, and an acoustic version of "We Could Be Together" began to play. Yes, also by Debbie Gibson.

"Is that an album?" Dean sighed, as if it were physically painful to listen to.

"You're making me want to find a higher roof," Castiel grumbled.

"Fine," Dean said. "You wanna paint the driveway? Do it. But just do one last thing for me."

"I can't do anything anymore," Castiel said.

"You don't need your power for it," Dean said. "Just... one thing."

"What?"

Dean smirked. "Do redrum," he said.

Castiel glared at Dean. "**No**."

"Come on," said Dean. His tone had become cajoling. "One last time? Nobody does redrum like you, Cas."

"No!" Castiel shouted. "I will not use my last moments on this earth to debase myself for your entertainment."

"Remember when we made Bobby sing 'Venom Wearin' Denim'?" Dean asked. "It's the same thing."

"You told me it would cheer him up," Castiel said, standing up on the ridgepole again. "He hit me with a book, Dean."

"No one's perfect," Dean said, looking a little embarrassed. "You know, you have pretty unrealistic expectations of people?"

Castiel gave him a wry look. "My dad was God," he said.

Dean thought about it, nodded. "That'd do it. Alright. Go ahead." Dean shoved his hands in his coat pockets and moved so that he was standing directly under Castiel.

Castiel made Sulky Teenager face. "What are you doing?" he growled.

"Oh, I'm in the way," Dean said chipperly.

"I'll crush you," Castiel said.

"_Alright_," Dean said, his tone suggesting a warning.

"Why did you say it like that?" Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged innocently. "No reason."

Castiel steeled himself. "I'm jumping anyway."

Dean grinned, folded his arms. "Try it," he said. "But if I catch you, I'm gonna drive you into the grown like a tent peg. I still owe you for that beat-down the other night."

"If I jump," Castiel said, "and land on you, you'll be the one that's sorry."

Dean just smiled. "Alright. It's just, you weigh less than my laundry. I'm amazed the wind hasn't carried you off already."

Castiel was beginning to wear out. "What do you want from me?" he whined.

Dean put up a finger. "One day," he said. "That's it. Twenty-four hours to try to turn this thing around. If it doesn't happen, I'll climb on the ledge next to you."

Castiel thought about it for a moment, not knowing what to say. "How do I hold out that long?"

"Take it an hour at a time," Dean said gently. "Or a minute. You don't have to know how, just hold on."

The fight had gone out of Castiel. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I'm asking you," Dean said. "In the meantime, ride it out. Watch 'Beaches' and weep manfully. Or - here's an idea - you could get some friggin' sleep."

"Angels don't sleep," Castiel said. There was something profoundly sad in his inflection.

Dean's face was all sympathy. "I know," he said quietly. "You, uh... You want a turnover?"

Castiel looked angry for a moment, his gaze wandering away. When it came back, his expression was somewhat sheepish.

Dean nodded, and gestured with his hand for Castiel to come down. "Come on, buddy. Let's get you a chocolate pie."


	2. Chocolate Pie

BOBBY'S PLACE - NIGHT

Dean and Castiel stood in the darkened kitchen, both looking like microwaved hell. Dean rifled through the cabinets until he found the store brand turnovers in the little boxes.

Dean grinned to himself for a minute, then turned to Castiel. "Dude, were you really gonna jump with a bottle of Wild Turkey in your hand?"

Castiel shrugged and gave Dean a very blasé look. "I'm badass."

Dean got out a lemon pie and a chocolate pie. He put the lemon one in his pocket, turned to Castiel, took away his booze and replaced it with the chocolate pie.

"Go take a load off," Dean said. "And, uh, I'd steer clear-."

"Dean." Castiel and Dean turned to see Bobby standing in the archway to his study. He looked about as surly and terrible as Castiel. One could faintly hear the sound of Carlene Carter coming from the stereo in the next room. "What time is it?" Bobby asked Dean.

Dean just blinked at him like an idiot for a moment. "Time for us to shuffle off," he said, a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. "Come on, Cas." Dean started walking out of the kitchen, but before Castiel could follow him, Bobby stepped between them.

"Why don't you hit the hay," Bobby said to Dean. "Give me few minutes with... Ophelia, here."

"Bobby," Dean said, "I already talked to him."

Bobby looked at Dean skeptically. "Boy, I said,_ get upstairs_."

Dean smiled and wussed-out. "Just about to," he said. He gave Castiel little a salute. "Nice knowin' ya, Cornfed."

That warranted a pissy look from Bobby. Dean tried not to take off for the staircase too fast. He had his dignity, after all.

Bobby turned to Castiel. And they just... **looked** at each other, for about a minute.

"Hi, Bobby," Castiel said.

"Well, _hiya_, Cas," Bobby said, his voice brimming with sarcasm. "Say, did you get to see my new stems?" Before Castiel could say anything else, Bobby kicked him in the shin.

Castiel grabbed his leg. "That was uncalled for!" he shouted. He looked angry, but then fell silent. Something was holding him back.

"What," Bobby said. "You got somethin' to say to me, princess?"

Castiel was flustered but indignant. "I don't really have any 'Bobby material,' okay?" Castiel limped to a nearby chair in Bobby's study, his face all screwy from the pain. He couldn't stop himself grunting out a quiet, "God-damn it."

Even drunk as a skunk and madder than hell, Bobby couldn't help but snicker at that. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

The realization seemed to devastate Castiel. "Oh," he said, being a bit choosier with his words.

Bobby waved it off. "Come off it, you been killin' angels all week. If they throw yer ass in the pit, it ain't gonna be for Gee-Deein' an old man."

Castiel gave Bobby an almost pitying look. A look that said,_ you don't know them very well_.

Bobby seemed worried and self-conscious for a moment - like someone who felt he was being watched - then remembered his point. He put a hand on each of the armrests of Castiel's chair and gave him a look that meant business.

"So," said Bobby, "back to brass tacks. I realize I'm bein' a damn hypocrite here - don't got the moral high-ground to judge nobody - but what I do got, is a shrinkin' window to get this through that thick skull, before yer antlers grow back."

Castiel frowned, baffled and somehow suspicious. "You're drunk."

Bobby gritted his teeth - this guy doesn't know when to quit. "Just _shut up_?" he said, almost pleadingly. "For one second. Can ya handle that?" He shook his head. "Guess I got this comin' to me. Anyway, I don't care _what_ Dean told you. What you did out there? Not kosher, you understand me?

Castiel rolled his eyes before giving Bobby an exasperated glare. "...Okay?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes, unable to believe the nerve this guy had. "Don't you roll you eyes at _me_, you feathered sumbitch. The answer is yes, sir! My house, my rules. And I say, no stains in the gravel 'til the garden hose thaws out, comprenez-vous?"

Castiel stared at Bobby for a moment, exhausted, trying to put the words together. But this was too much to work for his brain that night. "I'm trying to understand you," he said, matter-of-factly, "but you're making this more difficult than it needs to be."

Bobby smiled. But it was that angry, hostile smile. "Well, then, understand this: you ain't me. You don't get to do what I do. You don't pull that 'goodbye, cruel world' crap under my roof - or on it. It's not happening again. You are on probation, as of now. Argue the point, and your celestial ass gets thrown in the panic room so fast, you'll think you're at a laser light show. And if you even _think_ about trying anything, I'll give them pearly whites a knuckle finish."

Castiel leaned back, away from Bobby, confused but leery. "I don't know what that means."

"You wanna find out?" Bobby asked, quietly threatening.

"No," Castiel said in a small voice. Bobby didn't seem pacified, so Castiel tacked on a "sir" to the end.

Bobby got up, all worn out and grump-tastic. "Good," he said. "Now, I'm about to pass right out, so if I was you, I'd take the opportunity to get the hell outta this room."

"Thank you," Castiel said, still too shocked to move.

Bobby tried to make it to the cot, grumbling to himself. "Goddamn angels..."


	3. The Candying

BOBBY'S PLACE - 5:40 A.M.

Sam came downstairs for breakfast before it was even light out. He started going through Bobby's cabinets, looking for a blender that didn't seem to exist anymore. Frustrated, he turned and went to the study where Bobby was sleeping off the night before.

"Bobby?" Sam said softly. Bobby didn't move. He gave Bobby a push, snapped his fingers by his ear. Nothing. "Bobby. **Bobby**. Bobby. Bob. Robert. Puppies?" Nothing.

Dean came down the stairs and went right for the drawer where he was keeping his jumbo bag of Reece's Pieces. He popped the bag open, but noticed something was up with Sam and Bobby. "Has he cursed god yet?" Dean asked, headed over to the study. "Guy was plastered last night. It was majestic." He pounded a handful of candy.

Sam gave Dean's classy breakfast side-eye for a second and shrugged. "He's out cold. Is he even gonna be up for driving today?"

Dean started putting candy on Bobby's face. "Had a long night. Nothin' a pitcher of Jeeves won't fix."

"_Really_?" Sam asked. "He's unconscious and you're just gonna put candy on his face?"

Dean scoffed while shoving a piece into the corner of Bobby's mouth. "_He likes it_. Besides, I'm just expressing myself artistically. His fault for getting lit on the job." Dean put a couple on Bobby's eyelids.

Sam shook his head. "You're like a child. Wait, those aren't gonna stay on." Sam took the candies off Bobby's eyes and licked them, then stuck them back on. "There."

6:00 A.M.

Sam and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen. They had a big can of tomato juice and about half a dozen bottles and jars out on the counter. Worcester sauce, Sriracha, tabasco, red pepper, raw eggs, garlic and little hair of the dog. They were measuring out ingredients and filling a glass pitcher. Strong enough to strip the paint off a barn door - mix it right, it was guaranteed to cure a hang-over. Mix it wrong, you've got bigger problems to worry about. Sam stirred it all up with a celery stalk like it was a big Bloody Mary.

6:24 A.M.

In the study, Sam stood back after putting the finishing touches on their masterpiece: Bobby's face, completely decorated in Reece's Pieces, cashews, M&Ms and Nerds. Dean was filming everything on his phone with an almost serene expression.

"It's a beautiful thing," Dean said. "Ready?"

Sam grinned. "Bobby!" he shouted.

Nothing.

Dean shook his head. "Need a little more Whitney Houston. Allow me." He cleared his throat and yelled, "**BOBBAAAY**!"

Bobby bolted upright, the candy on his face going everywhere. He caught his breath and turned, giving Sam and Dean a glare straight from the fiery pit of death.

Dean shut his phone and pointed at Sam. "His idea."


	4. A Pitcher of Jeeves

BOBBY'S PLACE - 6:36 A.M.

Bobby sat on his cot, picking Nerds out of his beard and cussing. He noticed a mess in the kitchen that surrounded a pitcher full of orange sludge. "Let's get this over with," he said to himself. He pulled himself up and made his way painfully toward the counter, poured himself a tumbler full and drank the whole glass in one shot. He had to brace himself on the counter top for a minute, his breath heaving, his eyes squeezed shut. "**_Balls_**." When some of the worst effects finally passed, Bobby poured another glass and walked to the staircase.

He was going to head up to the second floor, but stopped when he saw that Castiel was sleeping on the stairs, snoring quietly. He was laying on his side, out like a light since the night before, with a bitter expression on his face that made him look like a California Raisin. He was using his coat for a blanket.

"You been there all night?" Bobby said. He shook his head in disgust. "And I'm guessin' the geniuses just climbed past you, too. Lazy asses." Bobby grabbed one of Castiel's ankles and pulled him down a stair or two, jarring him awake. "Mornin', Starshine," Bobby said. Castiel made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan. Bobby took a seat beside Castiel and held the glass up for him. "You wanna straighten yourself out, drink this."

Castiel sat up, eyeing the mixture in the glass a moment before taking it. "What is it?"

"A fine Merlot," Bobby said. "With subtle, oaky notes and nuances of _shut up and drink_. It's a hangover cure."

Castiel sniffed the sludge and grimaced. "This will make me feel better?" he asked suspiciously.

"If you drink it fast, it will. Just don't smell it. Or taste it... And try not to look at it."

Castiel drank the entire glass down quickly. When he finished, his eyes began to widen with horror. He tried to say something, but all he could do was gag and clutch his throat.

"Oh, right," Bobby said, taking the glass back. "Probably shoulda mentioned, it's gotta get a lot worse before it can really clear your head." He waited until first flush of pain seemed to pass. "How do you feel?" Bobby asked.

Castiel laid back on the stairs, breathing heavily, his head rocked back as far as it would go. His eyes were watering. "I was present for the collection of Faust's debt," he croaked. "He was made to projectile vomit his entrails, and feast on his own-."

"A simple 'not good' would've done it," Bobby said, a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. "Anyway, that's not what I meant."

Castiel looked back at Bobby, about to say something, but he became preoccupied. "There's pink in your beard."

Bobby sighed. "I had a spa day with the boys," he said.

Castiel sat forward again and held his face in his hands. "Where are they now?" Castiel asked.

"Yard, I guess. They lit outta here like they thought they might get strangled by some kinda bearded psychopath. And before you look at me like I got a finger in my nose, that was a joke."

Castiel forced a quiet laugh and a smile. "I get it," he said, putting his coat back on.

"Just between us," Bobby said. "Poker's not your game, son. Think you can get it together enough to ride out today?"

Castiel nodded, but he seemed worried. "I'm together," he said, not the least bit convincing.

Bobby smiled. "We're takin' the van. _Don't try to jump off it!_"

Castiel grinned to himself and laughed under his breath, genuinely this time. But he was still embarrassed, not quite making eye-contact with Bobby. "I... wasn't myself last night."

Bobby stewed for a moment. "Yeah, well. You're lucky _somebody_ was." Bobby fidgeted, having a bit of a hard time. "Guess I'm just... sorry it couldn't be me. I mean, if I hadn't been so wrapped up in my own crap, I could've talked you down myself."

"You have of your own problems," Castiel said. "You shouldn't have to deal with mine."

Bobby set the glass on on of the steps below him, annoyed with himself. "I been moanin' over the same bull all my life. Doesn't kill me to do for someone else on occasion. You've had, what, _a couple days_ to get the hang of mortality, just in time for the Apocalypse. And I haven't exactly been comfort and joy to anybody through all this. I mean, I'm kinda fuzzy on the details, but I'm pretty sure I scared the hell outta you last night."

"Actually," Castiel said, but hesitated. It was a difficult sentiment to express. "Where I come from,... that _is _comforting."

Bobby leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and smiled to himself. "I'm hidin' the ladder," he said.

"You should hide the Wild Turkey," Castiel said quietly.

They both just sat for a moment. They looked very content, considering.

"Now _that's_ a stirring tableau!" Crowley said. He stood at the foot of the stairs, smirking up at them. "I feel a mid-season retool coming on..."


	5. Empire

BOBBY'S PLACE - MORNING

Bobby got up and went down the stairs, getting in Crowley's face.

"Where in our deal does it say you're just gonna live at my house?" Bobby said. "I don't care if they're cleanin' the carpets in hell, we're all booked up."

Crowley backed up from Bobby. "I just thought we could make this our regular thing," he said. "Breakfast at Bobby's - wednesdays 'til nine. Open bar. One has to find ways to fill the day, after all. Life can get awfully dreary once the chicks leave the nest."

Bobby's expression turned dark: nerve strike.

"Is there an actual reason you're here," Bobby asked, "or did you just come to mwah-ha-ha at us?"

Crowley put a hand to his chest in faux-shock. "Is this an attitude of gratitude?" he asked. "You're lucky I see potential in you both. And that I'm a Star Wars fan."

Bobby and Castiel traded a bemused look. Castiel got up and descended the stairs to join them.

"Don't tell me you've never seen Star Wars?" Crowley went on. "You know, the space opera. Magic farm boy vs. Samurai Hitler?"

Bobby closed his eyes for a moment, totally exasperated. "You don't plan on makin' your point anytime soon, do you?"

"Be patient," Crowley said. "It's coming. Do you want it good, or do you want it now? Where was I... Right, my favorite movie of all time is "Empire". The parts with Han and the Wookie, running around, saving the day? All crap, never liked it. Just dry, dreary heroics. But the part with the two droids - the useless ones that just stood about, bickering for the entire movie? _Good times_. That always had me wondering, what would happen if you made the story about them?"

Bobby looked at Castiel, then back at Crowley. "There's pitcher of Bloody Marys in the kitchen," Bobby said. "_Help yourself_."

"Picture it," Crowley said, ignoring him. "The big dopey heroes are gone, doesn't matter how - maybe they get eaten by the Sarlacc. They're dead, and suddenly, the movie changes. There's still an Empire, there's still a galaxy full of Sith, but the only protagonists left..." He gestured to Bobby and Castiel. "Are the feisty sidekicks."

Castiel tried to rush Crowley. Bobby put out an arm to hold him back and struggled to stay between them.

"Well!" Crowley said. "Gracie's still full of piss and vinegar, isn't he? And I'm not just talking about that coat."

Castiel glowered at Crowley, but stopped pushing. "Why did you come here?" he growled.

"You're so much cuter with you wings clipped," Crowley said. Big grin. This was getting fun. "Honestly, I could play with you two all day, but I'm here on business. I've been watching you, and I think I see something special. When the Winchesters are no more," he checked his watch, "which is soon to be the case, someone's going to have to step up and fill their big, red shoes."

"Are you saying you think they're gonna lose?" Bobby said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Now, that just... _hurts_."

Crowley threw his hands up. "Don't get me wrong, I have complete faith in Goofus And Gallant. But once they've saved the teeming masses by jamming their respective fingers in the dyke, there won't be enough of them left to balance a wobbly table. And then the two of you will have first poke a ripening opportunity."

"Was that an accident," Bobby said, "or do you _try_ to make every word outta your mouth sound slimy?"

Crowley gave a proud little shrug. "If a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing right. Now, be honest with me, boys. Haven't you always wanted to play in the majors?"

Bobby smiled. "That ain't gonna work, but have fun tryin'. Besides, I already went all in, remember?"

"Silly redneck. You don't need a soul of your own to make a deal with the devil. Just ask your new Cabbage Patch."

Castiel took a step back. In spite of himself, he looked intrigued.

Bobby, however, was lost in his own head for a second. "I always hated those damn things," he said. "With their fat faces; they looked like Peter Lorre."

Crowley seemed genuinely scandalized. "_What _did you say about Peter Lorre?"

"I just mean, the guy had a face like a pile of scrambled eggs."

"_He was an artist_," Crowley said, growing frustrated.

"_Please_," Bobby scoffed. "He practically slept through 'Comedy of Terrors.' The whole thing was a piece o'crap."

"I'm not talking about the **old **Peter," Crowley said, as if the idea was disgusting. "I'm talking about the **real** Peter. 1930 to 1945! Agh - you know what?"

He snapped his fingers and Bobby disappeared. Castiel grabbed Crowley by the lapels and tried to push him against the wall. He hardly budged, of course, but even as the fact registered with Castiel, he didn't back down.

"What did you do with him!" Castiel shouted.

"Uncle Bobby needed a time out," said Crowley. He then realized he was standing in M&Ms and let out a disappointed sigh. "It's like visiting a puppy mill." He shook it off. "Bobby's fine. I really just wanted to talk to _you_, anyway. It... _was_ _you _I saw getting all hot and bothered over my offer, wasn't it?"

Castiel's grip began to loosen. He tried to look nonchalant, but it wasn't his strong suit. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "Bring Bobby back."

"I don't think you'll want him here for this," Crowley said.

Castiel closed in again, anger tightening his features. "If the last thing I ever do," he said quietly, "is try to kill you, I'll die laughing."

Crowley regarded Castiel with an almost blank expression for a moment. "Really?" he asked. "Well,... since you're such a good investment, I'll bring the old coot back. Show of faith."

He snapped his fingers. Bobby returned, holding the portable tape player in his hand. He lifted it up and turned it over, letting a few ounces of rain water drain out of the cassette tray, all the while giving Castiel an annoyed look.

Castiel let Crowley go and turned in the other direction, letting his arms swing. _Smooth_.

"See," Crowley said, "this is what I mean! You boys are electric. Really. If you had a show, I'd pirate it."

"Get out," Bobby said wearily.

Crowley shook his head. "You try to do something nice. Well, my offer stands firm." He walked up to Castiel, smiling coyly, put something small in his shirt pocket and tapped it with the back of his hand. "Might as well be prepared." And he was gone. Bobby looked at Castiel, who fished the object out of his pocket.

It was a tube of ChapStick.


	6. Dorks

SINGER SALVAGE YARD - MORNING

Out in the yard, Sam and Dean had already finished a few beers. They where sitting on the hood of the Impala, feet planted on the front bumper. They'd been enjoying the silent buzz for a while.

"You know what I saw the other day?" Sam asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "This isn't gonna be one of those things where you describe an entire episode of Doctor Who, is it?" Dean asked. "I don't watch that show for a reason, Sam. British crap makes my eyeballs itch."

Sam made a mild bitch-face to that. "I saw Tina Emry at the gas station," he said. Dean gave him a blank look. "Tina?" Sam said. "The girl in freshman year who told everybody I had VD? Remember, at the planetarium field trip, you poured coffee down the back of her skirt and got everybody to call her-."

"CrappaTina!" Dean laughed, smiling wistfully. "Good times. So how's the little skank doin' these days?"

"Married," Sam said. "She has a five-year-old."

Dean was horrified. "Dude... she's _your_ age. Oh, man. Why did you say that? Now I feel old. Listen, if you ever hear me reminiscing about Laser Tag, just shoot me."

"You know," Sam said, "the weird thing was, she was kinda kissing up to me for a while, but then before she left, she just, outta no where, says that I was a jerk to her in high school."

Dean looked genuinely pissed. "_You_ were a jerk to _her_?" he asked. "I feel the need to go on a coffee run..."

"Aw, man," Sam chuckled, "you remember that weak-ass poem she read in Lit. class?"

Dean put a hand to his heart and pulled a tragic face. "The Dad... I Never Had!"

"Yeah. You know, there are a lot of people our age making a real go of it - marriage, kids, a career - and I envy the hell out of them. But some people? It just feels like we dodged a bullet."

"Making a go of it?" Dean asked, smirking. "Is that what Dr. Who would say?" Sam gave him the pissiest of looks. "Go ahead and say it," Dean said, "you know you want to."

Sam glared at Dean for what seemed like half a minute. "He's the Doctor," Sam said. "Not Dr. Who. And you sound like a dumbass when you get it wrong."

"_Aww_," Dean said. "You get so huffy when I talk smack about your man. That's worth,... what? Five whole Princess Points, right?"

"Like Doctor Who is any lamer than Lord of the Rings?"

Dean stopped smirking.

They heard the back porch door swung shut. Bobby and Castiel were headed out to meet Sam and Dean. Bobby was carrying a duffle and a machete, and Castiel was carrying a lot of empty water jugs strung together. They walked up to the Impala, and Bobby took note of the empty bottles by the cooler.

"How many did you two have?" Bobby asked.

Dean and Sam started counting on their fingers, and saying, almost in unison, "One plus two, plus two, plus one..."

Bobby closed his eyes and sighed. "Get in the back, ya idjits."


	7. Into the Woods

SINGER SALVAGE YARD - MORNING

Bobby and Dean opened the back doors of Bobby's van.

"It was a joke," Dean said, "I'm good to drive."

Bobby handed him an old thermos of coffee he'd had stashed in the back. "I bet you are," he said, "but drink up and clear your head anyway. Or else you're finishing the Jeeves."

Dean tried to open the thermos but the cap was stuck. "Nice. How long has this stuff been back here?"

"Well, if it ain't fancy enough, you can just head down to Starbucks and get yourself a mocha-frippy. Otherwise, stow it." Bobby took out one of his road maps and pointed to the midway-point of a red line he'd drawn over I-90, from Sioux Falls to Detroit. "Here, nearest signs of activity we've had between us and grandma's house are out near Madison. People being grabbed in parking lots, sulfur in the roads and unseemly noises comin' from a dead neighborhood on the dry end, name of Stringtown. I've tried sending hunters out that way, but it's full moon crazy these days. And their loss is our measly gain."

"How many?" Dean asked.

"Two," Bobby said. "More or less? I don't know, we'll have to stake the place out."

"Two is a cake walk," Dean said. "Me and Sam'll head out, you and Rain Man can follow."

"I just said I don't know if it's two. We didn't get this close just to trip at the finish line. And why does everyone think I'm in the babysitters club? Is it genetic or something?"

Dean smiled and took the map. "Come on, Uncle Bobby," he said. "Don't tell me you don't have any of that maternal instinct left? It'll be like old times."

"Right," Bobby said, "it's that we're both so nostalgic. This isn't just your lazy ass sticking me with suicide watch."

"Call it the Buddy System," Dean said. "As long as you're watching Cas, I don't have to watch you."

"Watch _me_?" Bobby asked, furious at he idea.

"Don't tell me you're good," Dean said, trying not to let himself get too loud. "Or that Cas got the idea from me. You should've seen yourself the other day, waving that gun around like it was the friggin' blue pill."

Bobby got nose-to-nose with Dean. "You got a lotta nerve, boy. Especially considering I took that pistol out to talk sense into you. And Cas was so busy goin' upside your head, I couldn't know he was taking notes."

Dean shrugged. "Hey, 'little eyes upon you,' man. It's what he's like, don't blame me."

Bobby smacked one of the van doors. He thought Dean was right, but he didn't have to like it. "Is there a sign on my back or something!" he shouted. "Why is it always _my_ job to hatch the eggs? Bad enough you bring me a harp-plucker who's in the middle of some kinda existential crisis. But without powers, he can't find the door to get out of the house in the morning. I'm not even being euphemistic, here - he literally walked into a closet not fifteen minutes ago. I'm a hunter, Dean. It's the damn Apocalypse..." A look of realization came over Bobby. "But that's it, isn't it? This whole Sad Sack and the Sarge deal? You think if you can load me down with Cas, you can bench me!"

"Don't twist this," Dean said quietly. "You think _you're_ feeling side-lined? The plan is, pretty much, Goodbye Sammy. Best case scenario, we lose him, to the worst fate anyone can think up. And if I don't like it, I'm welcome to whine through my nose while I suck it hard, 'cause my only two options are to watch him go, or look away. I get that you're climbin' the walls. I am, too. But that's not on me, I'm just as muscled-out as you are. If I wanted you outta here, would I pussy-foot around about it?"

Bobby looked at him like it was a stupid question. "Yes."

For a second, Dean didn't know how to respond. "Fine," he said, "so I worry about you. It's pretty much all I got left. I won't stop you from coming, but I'd feel better if you weren't alone. Besides, me and Cas... need some apart time. I've had a pant-load of the guy for the last two years, you've had him for less than a day. It's not gonna kill you to go halves on this with me. Besides, I thought you two had it out already."

"We did," Bobby grumbled. "I know Cas ain't the one that put burr under my saddle. He is on my list, though. You know I had to fetch my cassette player off the garage?"

Dean snickered. "I hid the ladder," he said. "How'd you get it down from there?"

"Mind your business, that's how. Anyway, it's no good anymore. Guess I should take it as a sign. If I make it through this, I'll have to switch to CDs... Goddamn angels. I have half a mind to ride his ass down the highway, use them wings to steer."

"Hey," Dean said, "whatever gets you both to Stringtown. We'll take him the rest of the way. Deal?"

"Uh, let me think," Bobby said. "**No**."

"Okay, how about Rock-Paper-Scissors?"

Out behind the Impala, Sam and Castiel stood together practicing playing Red Hands.

"No, _you_ hold out your hands like this," Sam said, putting his hands out, palm down. Castiel copied him, focused on their hands. Sam kept glancing up at Castiel, trying to keep a straight face, and put his hands under Castiel's, palm up. "And I keep mine here. Now I'm gonna try to-."

Before his could finish, Castiel slapped Sam's hands hard. Sam recoiled, cradling his hands to his stomach. He couldn't help but laugh.

"Did I win?" Castiel asked.

"Almost," Sam said, shaking his hands out. "I think we should practice over the phone next time."

Suddenly, they heard a loud bang coming from a ways away. Dean came jogging around the side of the van and over to the Impala. He was grinning ear to ear.

"What just happened?" Sam asked.

"I threw paper," Dead said. "Cas, you're with Bobby."


	8. Rochester

BOBBY'S VAN - MINNESOTA HIGHWAY

Bobby had been driving about three and a half hours, following the Impala east on I-90, and they were just outside of Rochester. It was getting close to noon. The weather was sunny - warm, but not hot. The windows were down, the radio was low and a local station was playing "Tennessee Flattop Box" for the first time in ten years. A pleasant morning, all things considered. Castiel sat in the passenger's side seat, bored out of his mind, and so had been intently screwing with the little the ashtray on the door. He would flick the hinged lid open, then flick it closed, over and over. He'd been doing that for about an hour and every time he snapped the ashtray shut, Bobby would flinch. When he finally let up, Castiel reached out for the radio. Before he could touch anything, Bobby swatted his hand away.

"We should stop," Castiel said. "I think I need to eat."

"We been through this," Bobby said. "You're not hungry, you're just bored."

"I now have the capacity to be both at once," Castiel said.

Bobby let out a little exasperated growl. "You know," he said, "there's a slender chance you're gonna have to get used to travelin' this way. Might as well start now."

Castiel noticed a warning light flashing on the dash. "You have a red man blinking," Castiel said, pointing it out. "Right there."

"That's the seat belt light," Bobby said.

"Why is it blinking?" Castiel asked, putting on ChapStick.

"I know where this is going," Bobby said, "and since I'm not about to have this conversation-." He looked over at Castiel, saw the ChapStick. He snatched it out of Castiel's hand and threw it out the window. "Cas, what the hell?!"

Castiel was shocked and a little annoyed. "My lips are cracked," he said. "It's all they do now."

"That's the devil's lip gloss, boy," Bobby said, "wipe it off! You're doin' the Butterfly on my last damn nerve, you know that? I mean it, I will pull this van over."

Castiel put his hands in his lap and stared straight ahead.

"You remember what I said would happen if I had to pull over?" Bobby asked.

Castiel nodded, and it was plain from the expression on his face: whatever Bobby had said would happen, it was something very unpleasant. "I remember," Castiel said grimly.

"Good, 'cause we got another three hours 'til Madison and you're already one step away from gettin' me on the news."

They sat in silence for a while. After a few minutes, Bobby glanced over at Castiel. He hadn't moved. The road was practically clear. Jerry Lee Lewis came over the radio. Bobby was relieved at first. But after another five minutes, he got a bit restless. He took his hat off, scratched his head, ran his fingers through his hair and put the hat back on. Pushed his sleeves back.

"Get Dean on the phone," Bobby said.

Castiel took out his phone and called his only contact. "Dean?" he said, then paused and frowned. "Don't call me that. Bobby wants to talk to you." He handed the phone to Bobby.

Bobby tried to keep his eyes on the big rig that was passing them as he took the phone and put it to his ear. "We-. What did you call me?" he said. "Okay, I'm gonna put you on speaker, try not embarrass yourself." He set the phone on his dash, switched to speaker.

Dean's voice rang out loudly from Castiel's phone. "Breaker, breaker, Sheriff Justice. This is Reynolds, what is your boggle? Over."

"Stop bein' a jackass," Bobby said. "I wanted to let you two know to go on ahead if you gotta. That Sriracha when right through me, I'm gonna need to pull over. Figure we could hit the golden arches, since we been runnin' on all-mash the last couple days."

Castiel smiled to himself and looked out his window.

"Negative," Dean said. "Mickey Dee's is a no-go. There's a loose meat joint at the next exit. Over."

"I ain't playin' the E. coli blind challenge at another mom-and-pop," Bobby said. "There's one franchise in town."

"Sammy's shaking his head," Dean said. "It's a Code Ronald, over."

There was a loud scuffle over the phone. Up ahead, the Impala swerved.

"Well, that's what ya get," Bobby said.

"It was a joke!" Dean said.

"You know he's sensitive," Bobby sighed. "And bigger'n you, so cram a bastard in it. Remember, you're drivin' in front of us? I don't wanna have hell's most embarrassing 'how I died during the apocalypse' story. Pick a place and we'll follow. And no loose meat!"

"Uh, that's a ten-one," Dean said. "You're breakin' up, Justice. Reynolds out. Over." Dean ended the call.

Bobby shook his head. "Why does he do that?" he grumbled. "Guess you're not gettin' that Happy Meal."

Castiel took his phone back. He was smiling at Bobby.

Bobby noticed and it seemed to make him uncomfortable. "Look someplace else," he said.


	9. First Blood

STUART'S DRIVE-IN - 12:30

In a little hick town near Rochester, there was a crappy loose meat restaurant called Stuart's. It wasn't big inside, but there were picnic tables out front where a few people could enjoy their food in the sunshine. There, two old men sat lazily and talked about workman's comp. A woman in lavender scrubs had been having lunch with two little girls, and was currently walking them through the ritual of shoelace-tying.

On the other end of the picnic area, as far from the other people as possible, Dean and Sam sat opposite each other, finishing their lunch. Dean had some kind of horrible loose meat sub and Sam had a couple of side salads. Frustrated, Dean clutched his car keys tightly in one hand and helped himself to what was left of Bobby's curly fries with the other. Every now and then he'd give Sam's lunch the evil eye.

"I can't believe you're eating that... _today_," Dean said.

Sam shrugged and took an pen out, started drawing out five games of tic-tac-toe on a napkin, and drew in the first moves on three of them. Sam was X, like always. He slid the napkin and the pen over to Dean.

Dean drew his moves in, but messed one of them up. He dropped the pen and pushed it back to Sam. "What the hell is taking them so long?" he said.

"It's been ten minutes," Sam said.

"Who takes more than five minutes in the crapper?" Dean asked. Sam gave him serious eyebrow sass. "What, I'm shaving," Dean said.

The eyebrow sass climbed to epic levels. "You missed a spot," Sam said. "Oh, and by the way? _No_."

"No, what?" Dean asked.

"I know what you're thinking," Sam said.

"You really don't," Dean muttered.

"You're thinking we should ditch Bobby and Cas, put as many miles between us as possible while they're still in the bathroom."

From the look on Dean's face, it was obvious Sam was right.

"You've been squeezing the crap out of your keys," Sam explained. "Besides, I was thinking it, too. But that's not our call to make and you know it."

"We don't need them for this," Dean said.

"Yeah?" Sam said. "And what if I decided that _I_ don't need _you_ for this?" Dean glared at him. "That's what I thought," Sam said.

"This is different," Dean said.

"You always think so," Sam sighed.

"Just wipe that snotty look off your face," Dean said, "this isn't about what you think it is. I'm being practical. Can't I be practical?"

"Sure," Sam said. "Tell me your practical point of view."

"I need you to put your finger in the bitch ear for a second," Dean said. "Just hear me out. I know they can hold their own against the usual uglies. But if things take a turn, this doesn't become a boss fight, Sam. It's a massacre - it's bringing knives to a god fight. And Bobby and Cas have already given up. I don't blame them, but their heads aren't in it."

The woman in scrubs, who was now leading the two little girls by the hand, came up to Sam and Dean's table. "Excuse me, sir?" she said to Sam. Her POV was of two suddenly very suspicious-looking guys staring at her.

"Can I help you?" Sam said, a little anxious.

"Do you usually have salad for lunch?" she asked.

Sam and Dean traded looks. "Yes," Sam said.

"And dinner?" she asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Could you stand up, please?" she asked.

"Okay." Nervously, Sam stood up.

The woman grinned and the two girls gawked at Sam. "You see?" she said to them. "It's like I keep telling you, niñas. You wanna be big and strong, you have to eat right." She started leading the girls away, and said very grateful "thank you" to Sam at she left.

Dean glared after the woman. "No, _thank you_," he said.

Sam sat down again, smiling with the smugness of a thousand James Spaders. "What was it you were saying to me about lunch?" he asked.

"Your face is just so punchable right now," Dean said.

"What can I say?" Sam said. "'Little eyes upon you.'"

Dean snorted. "Who even talks like that?" He took a swig of his can of soda. "They could look out for _each other_, is all I'm saying."

Sam looked puzzled. He pointed after the woman and her kids.

"Bobby and Cas," Dean said. "I can see them as a team."

"Until they kill each other," Sam said. "Which is why we're taking Cas after Madison, remember?"

"What," Dean said, "you haven't notice the vibe-thing happening with them?"

"Vibe-thing?" Sam asked. "Most people would call that wrath, Dean."

"There's potential," Dean said.

"For a good headline," Sam said. "'Local man strangles angel, more after the jump.'"

That made them both chuckle a bit.

"They'd," Dean started to say. It was one of those abstract things, hard to verbalize. "You know, it works. Sometimes, we lose the mission, right? You're done fighting for your life, you're done fighting because it's right or because you're pissed. That's when you..."

"Need to be needed?" Sam asked.

Dean made a "whatever" face and shrugged, had more of his soda.

Sam looked down at his salad. "It's a nice idea," he said. "But I don't think Bobby has it in him."

"He took care of us, didn't he?" Dean said.

"Some of the time," Sam said. "But that was, what, twenty-five years ago? I'm not so sure Bobby's gonna feel the same way now about a _kid_, let alone some grown-ass man he can barely stand."

"Dude," Dean said, smiling, "stop. You're so far from right on this one, it hurts."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean, Clint Eastwood style. He took out his money clip, pulled out a fifty dollar bill and put it on the table.

"Seriously?" Dean asked. Gleeful now, he started digging crumpled bills out of his pocket. "Alright. You wanna go, Cornholio? We'll go. Fifty bucks says..."

Dean and Sam looked at each other for a minute. Neither of them seemed to know how to phrase the terms of the bet.

"First Blood," Sam finally said. "Whoever's right first wins the pot."

"Dude, shut up!" Dean whispered.

Bobby and Castiel were coming out of the restaurant. They both looked tired and annoyed, like they were at their wit's end. Sam and Dean tried to be casual, but they were sucking at it. They watched and waited for something - anything - that would count as "first blood".

As Castiel and Bobby crossed the picnic area, Castiel walked ahead and Bobby grabbed his arm. They started saying something Sam and Dean couldn't hear, but it didn't look good. Dean looked tense. Sam was smiling. Bobby pushed Castiel over to one of the picnic tables. They sat down. Bobby was gesturing a lot and Castiel had his head down. They both leaned down.

Bobby was showing Castiel the right way to knot his shoelaces.

Sam turned back to Dean. "No way does that count," he whispered.

But Dean already had the money and was gloating, snapping Sam's fifty victoriously.


	10. Parting Gifts

STRINGTOWN - 4:40

Two freshly slain demons hung bleeding in an old lumber warehouse in Stringtown, a sketchy neighborhood in a town near Madison, Wisconsin. The back of the van was open, and Bobby and Dean were having some kind of hushed argument. Sam and Castiel were finished loading jugs of the demons' blood into the Impala and were leaning back on the trunk, waiting for Dean and Bobby to finish up.

Sam tried to relax, but he was in a flop sweat. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. The whole situation was so altogether wrong, and waiting was making it worse.

"I brought you this," Castiel said. "I thought you'd want it." He held up a little pewter figure - the dog token from Monopoly.

Sam smiled weakly when he saw it. "Scotty," he said. "You busted him out, Cas, good job." Sam took the token. Almost immediately, his smile began to melt away. "What the hell are they still talking about?" he said.

Castiel was silent. Sam noticed he was staring at the stains the demon blood left on his own hands.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Castiel stared at Sam for a while. "What's it like?" he asked.

Sam felt a knot forming in his stomach. "What - what is what like?" he asked.

For a moment, Castiel's face seemed to be all eyes. "What does it taste like?"

Before Sam could answer, Dean started walking back to the Impala.

"Cas!" he shouted. "Get your ass off my car! Bobby needs to talk to you."

Castiel moved away from the car quickly. "I thought I was going the rest of the way with you," he said.

"Yeah," Dean said, breezing past them to the driver's side door, "but he's got somethin' to say before we go, so just... be quick."

Sam gave Dean a look. Castiel nodded and headed over to Bobby, who was now sitting in the back of the van.

"Have a seat," Bobby said. Castiel sat down and Bobby started rooting through his cooler. "You want a drink?" Bobby asked. "I'm gonna have a drink."

"Not alcohol," Castiel said.

"Well, darn," Bobby said. "I was planning on gettin' hammered and driving into a tree like in the good old days, but I guess that's out. It's soda, Einstein." He fished out a couple bottles of peach soda, opened both with his officer's knife and handed one to Castiel. "You ever had a Nehi?" he asked.

"No," Castiel said.

"Funny how these things bring back memories," Bobby said. He took a sip. "I remember there was this one summer, had to be thirteen years back, John dropped the boys off with me for a week or so, and I got a big case of Nehi grape... Yeah. One day, Sam just up and vanished at the back of the yard for a few hours - he did that sometimes, never knew why. It was about supper time when Sam came back. He had this little Rottweiler puppy wrapped up in his coat, lickin' his face and all. If you know anything about Sam, you know he can't say no to a dog to save his life. And he hits me with the doe eyes, starts in about how the owners moved and left the dog tied up outside, and there was no one to take care of it. Beggin' me to let him keep it, just until his old man got back. But I told him, you don't just keep a puppy for a few days. You take one in, he's yours for life. Sam was gonna be gone soon, and then who'd have to look after it? And he said, 'Why don't you like dogs?' Like that had a damn thing to do with it."

Castiel gave Bobby the closest thing he had to a derisive expression. "You called me over to... drink soda and talk about dogs?" he asked. "The world might not be ending for a few more days, Bobby. Maybe you could tell me about your childhood."

"You know," Bobby said, "for some holy being who's supposed to be all kinds of pure and innocent, you sure are an awful smartass. Where'd you pick up sarcasm, anyway?" Castiel gave Bobby a look. "Well," Bobby said, "if Dean asks, you learned from Sam, got it?"

Castiel glanced at the Impala and then back at Bobby. "I'm going with them soon," he said.

"Right," Bobby said, sighing. "You realize, when we get to where we're going, you and I are hangin' back?"

Castiel sort of gawked at him a moment. "That's... insane," he said.

"Just a skosh, yeah." Bobby went back to sipping his soda.

"This plan already has a low probability of success," Castiel said. "Why would they insist on going alone?"

"I'm just forwarding the message," Bobby said. "Don't like it any better than you do."

"Dean isn't a general," Castiel said, getting annoyed. "He has no authority, we don't take orders from him."

"Yeah," Bobby said, "but he asked. And sometimes, when someone asks something like this, you do it."

"Why?" Castiel asked. "Why would I do it?"

"Because," Bobby said. "Drink the soda, it's gettin' flat."

"The more of us are fighting," Castiel said, "the better our chances are. Bobby, I'm not afraid to die."

"That's a hell of a non sequitur," Bobby said, getting mad. "I don't remember askin'. But this is Sam's fight, and he's gonna be all coked out on that super unleaded, too. If he can't handle it, what chance does either of us have? It'll get pointless, fast."

"Then why is Dean going?" Castiel asked. "Why should any of this matter to us?"

"Because-." Bobby had to stop himself. He looked like he might start yelling or worse. So he took a breath, calmed himself as much as he could. He leaned in close to Castiel and whispered, "Because a few hours ago, I taught you how to pee. You owe me, so just do what I damn well tell you, this once. Do it because I asked. Deal?"

Castiel tapped his fingers on his soda bottle and stared at the gravel road in front of them. "I did thank you for your help," he said.

"There ain't enough 'thank you' for _that_," Bobby said. "Deal or not?"

Castiel nodded. He took something out of his coat pocket and handed it to Bobby. It was the Debbie Gibson mix tape. "Before I go," he said.

Bobby grabbed the tape and stuck it in his pocket quickly. "It was a gift," he said. He heard the tape rattling against something. "Oh, yeah." Bobby took a tube of Burt's Bees out of his pocket and tossed it to Castiel. "Got that back at the restaurant," Bobby said, "they had a display by the register. Forgot to give it to ya. Hope you like beeswax, 'cause it's all they had."

Castiel put the chapstick in his pocket. "What happened to the puppy?" he asked.

Bobby looked uncomfortable. "I don't recall. Tea party's over, Cas. Unless you feel like makin' this your summer home, you better shake a tail feather."

Castiel frowned. "I don't have..."

"It's an expression," Bobby said. "It means get the hell outta here, before I back my van over you."


	11. Bankrupt

BOBBY'S PLACE - ONE DAY EARLIER

It was a little after sundown. Alone in the study, Sam sat the big desk, his arms folded over the old copy of "The Fall of Camelot" he was nodding off into. Too many late nights and early mornings. Both the pocket doors had been closed for some reason, and the lights were still off. The room was dark. Suddenly - or at least for Sam - a large mug was set on the edge of the desk. He sat up quickly.

"What?" Sam asked, groggy, but slightly wigged.

Dean stood in front of him, smirking. "You dreamin' about Rue McClanahan again?" he asked.

Sam looked down at what he'd been reading. The book lay open to a full-page engraving of Lancelot. He closed the book.

"Reading," Sam said. "Killing time."

"Yeah, well, you look like you got deloused by a bear," Dean said. He put the mug in front of Sam. "Get some sleep."

Sam looked the mug, then at Dean, then back at the mug and back at Dean. "What's in it?" he asked.

Dean tried to look insulted. "It's tea," Dean said.

Sam smiled expectantly. "And?"

"What?" Dean said. "It's that Sleepytime crap Bobby drinks."

"No salt?" Sam asked. "No vinegar,... no ex-lax?"

Dean gave Sam a dirty look, picked the mug up and took a drink, swished it around in his mouth, gargled with it and swallowed. "Satisfied? Ingrate."

Sam took the mug from Dean. "Yeah," he said, "I'd feel really rotten right now if you'd ever made me tea that didn't have some kinda Shyamalan twist. Remember last time, when you dunked a cat's foot in it? And you just watched me drink it?"

Dean couldn't help a tiny, guilty smirk. "I didn't really put the cat's foot in it," Dean said. "I just told you I did 'cause you were being a dick."

"Rufus watched you do it," Sam said. "He said he helped you catch the cat. Hey, can I ask you something?"

"I swear I thought you'd laugh," Dean said.

"No," Sam said, "I was just wondering. I know it's... random, but... What were my first words?"

Dean looked down a moment, shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know... I mean, we didn't really pay attention to that kinda thing. And you and me, we were ramblers. It all kinda blurs together." He smiled thoughtfully. "I remember, we said, 'the mountain' a lot."

Sam laughed. "The mountain?" he asked. "Why?"

"No idea," Dean laughed. "We'd just point at random crap and go, 'The Mountain!' Maybe we saw on TV or somethin', I dunno. Why the interest?"

Sam smiled drowsily. It took him a second to answer. "I was just thinking," he said, "about that time we went to Boss Tweed?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, "we were celebrating after Dad ganked that phooka thing with the box-cutter."

Sam looked disgusted for a second. Dean cleared his throat.

"We didn't tell you about that?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam said. "Anyway, Dad and I were in the car waiting for you, and he told that horrible joke about the blonde cop-."

"That was a good joke," Dean said.

"Sure," Sam said, "the first thirty times I heard it. But we were out there, having a good time. And I don't remember how we got into it, but he said my first words were, 'Back off.' I couldn't tell if he was kidding or serious."

"Huh," Dean said, "sounds about right... Did he, uh..." Dean seemed a little serious for a moment. "Did he say what mine were?"

Sam grinned. "He said they were, 'More pie,' so who knows."

Dean chuckled. "Could be," he said. "Anyway, I gotta make coffee." He gestured to the cot by the window. "You should probably get some sleep."

"Yeah, I'm pretty much done for the night," Sam said. He lifted the mug. "Thanks."

Dean nodded, went out through the pocket doors that led to the kitchen and shut them after him. Sam looked back at his book. He took a sip of his tea, then spat it back into the cup, appalled. He got up sluggishly, went out the same way as Dean and headed straight to the sink. Leaving his tea on the counter, he ran the water for a bit to rinse his mouth out.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam said. "How much sugar did you put in it?" He turned around and Dean, Bobby and Castiel sitting around the kitchen desk, which had been cleared to set up a board game. Sam smiled. "Hey, are you guys playing Monopoly?"

Bobby gave Dean a nasty look, then said to Sam, "You're not invited, kid."

Sam gawked at him. "Are you serious?" he asked. "You're sneaking games behind my back? I **love** Monopoly - I'm the one that's always like, 'Hey, let's all play Monopoly.' And why is Cas sitting at GO?"

"Because you're a Boardwalk sadist," Dean said. "Last time you played, you made the game last six hours."

"I'm a generous lender," Sam said, dead serious. "Besides, that was forever ago."

"It was two years ago," Bobby said. "Anyway, we're only playin' because Cas is wired. He keeps tryin' to take apart my sandwich press. Just go upstairs. You can take my bed and I'll bunk down here."

"Unbelievable," Sam said. "Did you give him my token, too?"

He rubber-necked a look at the board. If the property cards in front of them were any indication, Bobby and Dean were tied, and Castiel was getting creamed. As usual, Dean was the race car and Bobby was the top hat. Castiel seemed to be the thimble. Sam kept looking at the board and box until he saw it: the scottie dog, sitting in jail.

Sam pointed at it, annoyed. "Why is Scotty in jail?" he asked.

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Look, stay or don't stay," he said. "But we're not dealing you in, okay? The game's almost over."

Sam leaned down to Castiel and whispered in his ear, _"Dean doesn't know what his properties are worth, you can break him."_

"Hey!" Dean shouted. "No public defender! What did you tell him?"

"You guys are sandbagging him!" Sam said. "I'm just helping out. Cas, do you want my help?"

"**Sam**," Dean said. He was making the Stern Big Brother Face of Unwavering Resolve.

"Three minutes?" Sam asked, making the face dogs make when you're eating something and it's not for them.

THREE MINUTES LATER

Bobby, Castiel, Sam and Dean sat around the desk. After rolling doubles to get out of jail, Dean landed on Tennessee Avenue.

"Yes!" Sam cheered.

"I believe Tennessee Avenue is mine," Castiel said. "With a hotel, rent is..." He shuffled through his thick stack of property cards until he found it, and smiled at Dean. "Nine-hundred and fifty dollars."

Dean glared at them both. "You just bankrupted me," he said.

"So sell B. & O.," Sam said snottily.

"You can have it," Dean said, tossing his token back in the box. "I quit."

Sam turned back to Castiel and whispered,_ "Okay, so it's just you and Bobby, now, that's a whole different strategy."_

"Time's up," Dean said. He got up, grabbed Sam's arm and hauled him to his feet. "Come on. I'll be Reagan, you be the monkey. Let's go."

Sam pulled away. "Hey, back off, okay?"

"There you go again," Dean said, "all precocious."

"He's playing Bobby now," Sam said. "He's gonna need help."

"Cas owns half the board," Bobby said, "I think he'll survive."

"That wasn't even three minutes!" Sam said. "Who was timing it?"

"Look," Dean said, "there are only two ways this is gonna go. Both end with you in bed, but only one involves a falcon punch and a garbage bag."

"Real mature," Sam said. He leaned down to Castiel and whispered, _"Don't sell the railroads."_ Dean pulled Sam away and started herding him toward the stairs like he was shooing pigeons. Sam backed out of the kitchen, pointing at Castiel with a steely, almost ominous expression. "Trust no one," he said.

Bobby and Castiel watched, slightly dumbfounded, as Sam and Dean went upstairs.

"Is this an important game?" Castiel asked, turning back to Bobby.

"Sam thinks so," Bobby said. He fetched a bottle of whisky and a couple of shot glasses off the shelf behind him and poured a couple of drinks. "That's my fault. He used to play for fun. Then he played me." Bobby rolled the dice, moved his token and landed on Free Parking. "I can be a swell guy, but when I'm the top hat, you're nothin' to me."

Castiel downed his entire shot and rolled the dice. He landed on Luxury Tax. "It's a pleasant distraction," Castiel said, paying his fine.

"Don't know how they do it," Bobby sighed. He sipped his drink. "Just keep on goin' like everything's the same. Guess they have to. But I tell ya, I don't have it in me anymore. I'm close to quittin' time." He finished his shot, poured himself and Castiel another.

"I didn't know that," Castiel said.

"Well, I don't exactly tweet about it," Bobby said. He rolled the dice and took another sip. "But you and me, we've done all we can do. Now we're just stuck runnin' out the clock. Stay wide-eyed and on your feet. Happy face when the kids are watchin'."

"That's more lugubrious than happy," Castiel said glumly. He drank his shot. "It's your move."

Bobby walked his token to Go To Jail, then moved it to Jail, next to the scottie dog. He finished his shot. "It's despair," he said. "You ever despaired?"

Castiel shook his head, his eyes averted. "No," he said. "I couldn't... Even if I wanted to." He drank his shot and rolled the dice.

"How's that work?" Bobby asked.

"It's blasphemy," Castiel said. "There's a God in heaven, and when you know that, to despair would mean deliberately scorning Him."

"He scorned us first," Bobby said. "Fair's fair."

"I'm sorry," Castiel said. "I have to believe in Him. My faith will carry me."

"That's a good one," Bobby said. He poured two more shots. "Tell it again tomorrow."


	12. Finish Line

DETROIT, MICHIGAN - RIGHT NOW

Nighttime in Greektown. Sam and Dean were gone, to God knows where. In an alley behind the neighborhood bodega, Bobby had popped the hood of his van and was funneling coolant into the reservoir tank. Castiel paced around behind him, staring up at the sky anxiously.

Bobby frowned. "Don't make no sense," he said, thinking aloud.

"You keep saying that," Castiel said.

"Well, it don't," Bobby said. "Dean was up to eleven, wasn't he? Like he was bein' followed by the theme from Jaws. Then he gets in the car and he comes out obstinate. He's onto somethin'. Or why even go, if he didn't have an angle?"

"He's lost his mind," Castiel said, breathing heavily. "It's a good time for it."

"Nah, he ain't bibbledy," Bobby said. "Not yet, anyhow. I could track the GPS on his phone, figure out where he's gone to."

"We were in agreement," Castiel said. "This situation has become futile. I thought that you, at least, would keep an even mind in all this."

"I didn't promise nothin'," Bobby said. "Now, let's see if I have to outrun another fireball." He turned to Castiel. "Try the engine for me." Castiel stared blankly. "What would I do without you," Bobby grumbled, and turned back to the engine.

Castiel wasn't staring at Bobby. He was thinking, and whatever he was thinking about only made him breathe heavier. He put a hand to his chest with a pained expression.

"What's the point?" Bobby said, tapping the funnel dry and replacing the cap on the tank. "Punch and Judy'll probably draw on each other before Dean even gets off the freeway. Hell, I'm bettin' we missed the coin toss already."

"They haven't begun yet," Castiel said. "Michael and Lucifer like to... pontificate. I'd hear them."

"You sure you still get in that station?" Bobby asked. He closed the hood and turned back.

Castiel had gone wide-eyed and he was practically gagging. He looked like he was in the middle of a mini meltdown. Bobby rolled his eyes and started shoving Castiel toward the back wall of the bodega.

"Goddamn angels," Bobby muttered to himself. He dropped his bottle of coolant, stacked a few vegetable crates and they sat down. "Okay, don't turn plaid on me." Bobby clamped a hand over Castiel's mouth for about five seconds before letting him take another breath. He repeated that move a few more times until Castiel's breathing leveled out. "I don't do CPR," Bobby said. "Thought I'd tell ya upfront." Bobby let him breathe on his own.

Castiel gasped. "Your hand smells like diesel," he said. "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"More like a panic attack," Bobby said. "But kudos on playin' through the pain, tough guy. What happened?"

"I had an idea," Castiel said.

"Yeah, I hear it hurts the first time," Bobby said. "What about?"

"A way to help Dean," Castiel said. He shook his head ruefully, "But it's a bad,... bad idea."

"Well, it's one more than I got," Bobby said. "So why do I feel like your Lamaze partner?"

"I was wrong," Castiel said. "Or I changed my mind, or I lied. I don't know-." He drew in a sharp, wheezing breath.

"Easy!" Bobby said, steading Castiel at the shoulders. "You know, I never realized how hard June Lockhart had it until now."

"I was so certain before," Castiel said wearily. "I knew it would all end for me, and I was fine... Well, not _fine_. Just certain. But we almost changed it, Bobby. We still could. Our first tangible hope for deliverance. And now my head is swimming, and I'm overwrought and I don't why." He squinted up at the sky, trying to catch his breath. "I _am_ afraid to die."

"That's a start," Bobby said. "Maybe now you might wanna concentrate on surviving?"

"I don't wanna do that either," Castiel groaned. "It's all just so infuriating. Surreal. Unnerving... And demeaning."

Bobby smiled sadly. "That's just what it's like bein' human," he said.

"Right," Castiel said. He glanced at Bobby briefly before staring down at nothing in particular. "I'd like to stop, now."

Bobby sighed - this all felt too familiar. "Yeah, I know," Bobby said. "Just breathe, tenderfoot. And don't worry about things goin' south. Concentrate on what you'll do when this is all over."

"I'm powerless," Castiel said.

"Oh, shut up," Bobby said. "I don't mean like that. I mean _anything_. Now, me, I bought a bag of potatoes."

Castiel stared at Bobby, wearing an expression that said his brain was being overworked again.

"You know, the big kind," Bobby explained. "For baking. And I know at my age, a loaded baked potato is like a silver bullet, but I figure I've earned it. I'll aim for one every night until I'm sick of lookin' at 'em. So, yeah, I'm not thinkin' about now. 'Cause I know, this time tomorrow, I'm goin' home."

"That's nice for you," Castiel said. "But it doesn't exactly apply to me."

"What, are you too good to eat a baked potato?" Bobby said.

"Bobby, I don't understand," Castiel said. "No one explained to me about potatoes!"

"Well, it's a big bag," Bobby said quietly. "Ya need to get through 'em in a timely fashion, otherwise they grow them little legs. But it's more than I can eat. What I'm sayin' is..." He was getting frustrated. "Just have a damn potato and quit yer bitchin'."

Castiel simply went on staring dolefully at the ground. The whole potato thing didn't work.

Bobby stood up; he was starting to get pissed. "Think it'd help if I hollered at you like I did last night?" he asked.

"You might as well," Castiel said, not giving the slightest crap.

"Good," Bobby said, "because I've had all I can take of your weepy, poor-me, melancholy horse crap! Like you're the only one who's fallen from grace! You think I like runnin' on empty? Eatin' all that anger and worry, and pickin' myself up when I'm bone-tired so I can swing by and get everybody else on their feet? I hate it! I hate bein' the grown-up all the time. I'd like to pack it in and wait for whatever comes next, but I don't. I keep at it. And there ain't another person you know who could tell you why, so I figure you're dyin' to hear this. It's because fellas like us - the ones on the ride down - ain't got anything else to offer. But I can't do this with you anymore. It's gonna be hard enough standin' on my own two feet. I ain't got it in me to drop-kick your across the finish line!"

Castiel looked up at Bobby, frowning. Something he'd said had made an impression. Castiel stood up, went to the driver's side of the van and got in.

Bobby sneered. "What are you gonna do," he asked, "steal my ride?" He heard the engine turn over and charged after Castiel. "Hey! Son of bitch. I swear, if you even take the_ parking brake_ off, I'm gonna whoop your lily-white ass!"

Bobby opened the driver's side door. Castiel was sitting in the passenger's side, waiting.

"You got a plan?" Bobby asked.

"A bad one," Castiel said. "I can't drive. And I don't know what GPS is, so..." He nodded to the driver's seat.

Bobby chuckled under his breath and shook his head. "We are gonna **lose**," he said, smirking.


	13. Between Now and Then

Thanks for reading, everybody! You have questions (or just wanna hear John Winchester's horrible blonde cop joke) drop me a line.

* * *

BOBBY'S VAN - NEBRASKA HIGHWAY

It was early in the evening, the beginning of an unthinkable future. The Ending had, well, ended. And the world had kept turning, in spite of itself. Bobby was in his second hour of driving back to Sioux Falls, heading north on I-29 just outside Nebraska City. The air seemed stale, even though the windows were still down. They'd gotten off cheaply, considering. Still, Bobby was having a hard time keeping himself together. The local radio station started playing "Hazard" by Richard Marx.

Bobby grimaced. "Everyone in this state thinks they're a comedian," he said to himself.

He heard the sound of an ashtray snapping shut and was shocked to see Castiel brooding in the passenger seat.

"Dammit, Cas!" Bobby shouted. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long," Castiel said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, that's fine," Bobby said, catching his breath. "I been meanin' to try out that new blood-pressure machine down at the mall. Nice to know you're back in rare form as far as scarin' the crap outta people goes."

"Apologies," Castiel said.

"If you came here to ask me how I am," Bobby said, "you're goin' out that window. I thought you left with Dean."

"I did," Castiel said, "but... I didn't feel welcome. He's different now."

Bobby's eyes flicked from the road long enough to give Castiel a suspicious glance. "Different _how_?" he asked.

"Distant," Castiel said. "Not like I remember. And it's not just him. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But now..."

Bobby couldn't help but smirk. "Van's seems smaller, don't it?" he asked.

Castiel frowned at him, incredulous.

"Thought so," Bobby said. "My ten year highschool reunion, I felt the same way. Anyhow. I'm gonna take a wild stab and say you're not here to hitch a ride."

"I came to say goodbye."

Bobby sighed. "They need you back at Jackass Incorporated?" he asked. "Or are you a free agent?"

"Michael is defunct now," Castiel said. "And he might've been... '_incorporated_,' but he was the keystone of Heaven."

Bobby winced. "Yeah, forgot about that," he said. "Guess it's a good thing those new antlers came in when they did."

They sat in silence for a moment. "I know it's a bit late," Castiel said, "but I wanted you to know, I understand now what you were trying to tell me the other night."

"Which night?" Bobby asked.

"Game night," Castiel said.

Bobby kept his eyes on the road, trying not to let his disappointment show. He forced a laugh. "I started drinkin' at lunch that day," he said, "what did I know? Dean's the one who brought you down off the ledge, not me. How'd he swing that, anyway?"

"He told me to wait a day," Castiel said. "Then we went to get pie."

"A _day_?!" Bobby shouted, suddenly pissed. "As in, _until yesterday_?!"

"It got me on the ground," Castiel said, then felt the need to clarify, "in a... non-violent way. But I just wanted to say that I'm grateful for the time you spent on me. If you'd given up when I did, I wouldn't be here right now."

"Well, me either," Bobby said, calming down, "so don't mention it. I just figured I had one shot to knock the notion out of ya, before you were too hardcore to tangle with again."

"There was no way to know that my power would be restored," Castiel said. "No sign. But you anticipated it."

"Yeah, it's called paranoia," Bobby said. "I'm blue with it, in case you haven't noticed."

Castiel smiled to himself. "You know," he said, "there's another word for believing in something when common sense tells you not to?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, "and if you say it, you'll be **real** sorry you did."

Castiel rolled his eyes, and shook his head: stubborn bastard.

"You wanna find out how a human could blitzkrieg an angel with nothin' but a butane lighter and some rotgut?" Bobby asked. "Then roll your eyes at me one more time, boy, I ain't kiddin'."

"You're being prideful," Castiel said.

Bobby put his turn signal on and started steering right.

Castiel noticed, concerned. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm pullin' over," Bobby said calmly, taking more time than he actually needed to pull off to the side of the road. "You remember what happens if I get all the way to pulled over?"

In an apprehensive moment, Castiel seemed to forget a few things. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, looking scared.

Bobby stopped the car and, turning to Castiel, pointedly reached for the ignition.

"Sir," Castiel added.

Satisfied, Bobby put his blinkers back on and steered the van back onto the highway. A syrupy old Collin Raye song came over the radio.

"I just," Castiel began, but needed a moment to recover from his close call. "I came to return this." He set his tube of Burt's Bees in the cup-holder.

"You're givin' me used chapstick?" Bobby asked. "Can't wait to add it to my collection."

"It's unopened," Castiel said. "It thought you could use it."

"Sure you don't wanna hang onto it?" Bobby asked.

"No," Castiel said. "I don't need it anymore."

"Suit yourself," Bobby said, emotion creeping into his voice. "Look, I know you're about to do that thing again."

"What thing?" Castiel asked.

"The thing you always do," Bobby said. "Where you say somethin' and then vamoose while I ain't lookin'. I keep talkin', then I look over like a dumbass and find out I'm talkin' to myself. Do me a favor, son. _Don't do that now_."

Castiel nodded. "Okay," he said. He sat quietly for a moment. "What should I do, then?"

"It ain't long 'til Omaha," Bobby said. "Until then, just... sit tight. I mean, if you got the time."

Castiel smiled at Bobby. "I have time," he said. He reached out for the radio and Bobby swatted his hand away.


End file.
